Vanishing Point
by MoonShadow2
Summary: Rachel loses all memory of the last several years after being exposed to a substance in a lab. This story is in progress and I write slowly. Be warned.
1. Chapter 1

Title: **Vanishing Point**  
>Category: TV Shows » Eleventh Hour<br>Author: MoonShadow2  
>Language: English, Rating: Rated: M<br>Genre: Drama/Romance  
>Published: 01-27-11, Updated: 01-27-11<br>Chapters: 1, Words: 1,425

Summary: Special Agent Rachel Young is exposed to an unknown substance and loses all memory of the past 3 years, including the time she's been assigned to protect Dr. Jacob Hood. Follows on from a few months after the end of the series. Alternates POV between Rachel and Jacob with various chapters.  
>=====================================================================<p>

**Vanishing Point: Chapter 1**

I awoke to the sound of a steady electronic beep. My eyelids felt heavy. So did the rest of me. I must have not moved for quite a while. My limbs must be asleep. I managed to open my eyelids a tiny bit and see a sliver of light before pain flooded my senses and pushed me back into darkness.

Okay. Maybe I'll just lie here for a minute. Hangover city. I've been here before.

* * *

><p>The beeping sound pulled me up out of the darkness again but I decided against opening my eyes right away. The pain would find me. I lay there for a while and worked on remembering where I was and how I'd gotten there.<p>

No luck. The details were just beyond the limit of my memory. Okay, fine. Maybe I should just open my eyes and see. Maybe. The pain crept in slowly but it was wrapped in something that muffled it. I breathed in and out a couple of times – tentatively - to see if that did anything. Nope, no change.

Okay.

Whatever made the pain dull made my body heavy. I was flat on my back so everything was numb. No surprises there. I must have been _**spectacularly**_ drunk to sleep flat on my back for so long. I flexed a muscle in my hand. It took ages for it to respond. But at least I knew then that I was still attached to my body. I might get to flexing other parts later.

* * *

><p>Time now to try and open my eyes. Okay, no pain, no push backwards into the dark. Good. I was staring at a ceiling. It was not my bedroom ceiling. Did I fall asleep at Kara's house after a party? It didn't look like her ceiling but maybe I was in a different room?<p>

I considered the ceiling some more. There was a slider rail on the ceiling with a curtain attached. And there was a light over me, a dim light, above my head. It seemed familiar, like a place I'd been before though definitely not Kara's spare bedroom. I tried to piece the information together.

Curtain, dim light, beeping sound.

I became aware that my arms were cold. I tried to move them but they didn't seem to get the message. Some detail wanted my attention. But when I reached for it, it moved away from me.

I turned my head a bit to the left and saw a pole with a clear plastic bag hanging from it and a tube dangling from the bottom of the bag. Just beyond it was the box making the beeping sound. A scribble of a line crossed a small screen on the box. At least I think it did. It was kind of fuzzy. And it felt so familiar. I pondered these facts for a bit of time before it came to me.

Hospital. I was in a hospital. I wondered who I was visiting, whose room I'd fallen asleep in.

I turned my head slowly the other way and saw a man on a short couch. He seemed to be asleep because his eyes were closed and his head was thrown back and he was breathing slowly. Whoever he was, he wasn't snoring but he looked tired. Exhausted, actually. I realized then that I was looking down at him.

Wait a minute.

He was on a couch. And I was looking at him from under the light and I was next to the pole with the bag hung on it. Which meant…

Which meant that _**I **_must be in a hospital bed and_** I**_ must be the one hooked up to the monitor. My body got heavier. I tried to turn my head back the other way but the effort made me tired and I closed my eyes. As I fell backward into the inky blackness, I wondered what had happened that I was in a hospital bed.

The next time I woke, there was a woman in a colorful shirt reaching over me. She seemed to be checking things I could not see. And writing on a chart. She looked intently at the machine making the beeping noise. Monitor. That's what it was called.

My eyes were open a tiny bit. I tried to speak to the woman but I could not gather enough breath to make a sound. She moved down towards my feet, poking at me and lifting my limbs along the way. It made no sense to me, what she was doing. I turned my head to find the man but he was not there. There was no one on the couch. Where was he?

I concentrated hard and raised my left hand. The woman saw the movement. She came up to my side and took my hand. She was talking but the words were indistinct. I opened my eyes a little more and she smiled at me and said not to worry. I blinked several times and tried to speak but the black softness called me back and I went.

I was not worried about not being able to speak. I just wanted to know where the man had gone.

* * *

><p>Sometime later, I opened my eyes again it took a few minutes for the curtain to come into focus. I realized that there was a voice in the room. I looked around slowly and saw the man who'd been on the couch before. I recognized him from before. He was leaning against the far wall, talking on a cell phone. I could hear him talking but the words were too far away and mushy for me to understand. He was wearing a light blue shirt that looked like he'd slept in it. His pants seemed like a dark blue wool and also looked like he'd probably been wearing them for some time. The hand he held the cell phone with was bandaged. There were dark circles under his eyes. He clearly needed to sleep.<p>

I wondered why seeing this sleep-deprived man in wrinkled clothes made me feel better. Maybe I knew him?

I watched him for a moment. I blinked several times and flexed my jaw instinctively. That's when the pain in my head came alive. It felt like something large and angry had kicked me in the head. I couldn't really feel the rest of my body. If it felt as bad as my head, I wasn't going to push for the feeling to return.

I moaned a little bit and the man put down the cell phone and came to the bedside. He picked up my hand and spoke to me with a deep, scratchy voice. He'd obviously been without sleep for a long time. I couldn't understand the words he was saying but he looked at me with obvious concern. Maybe he could make the pain in my head stop. Maybe that was why I needed him close.

I flexed my jaw again and the pain shot through to both temples. I drew a tiny breath and looked at him and said, "My head hurts a lot. My arms are cold."

He leaned over me and then kissed my forehead with incredible gentleness. He straightened up and yelled, I think, for a nurse. He then looked back at me with such concentration that it was almost mesmerizing. His eyes were so green, so clear, almost fathomless. He had a small scar next to his mouth and unruly curly brown hair. A nice looking man, probably around 40.

He brought his face down close to me and spoke slowly and clearly so that I could understand him finally. He said, "Welcome back. You don't have my permission to stop breathing, ever again. Don't forget that."

Next thing I knew, there was a man in a white coat shining light in my eyes and asking me questions. I managed to breathe out the word, "Head" and "cold" before I slipped back towards the blackness.

As I slid away, I realized what the man had said. He must know me. I found that odd because now that I had seen him up close, I realized didn't know him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Jacob**

Einstein explained relativity with the metaphor, "_Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity_."

Waiting for her to wake up, time took on an elasticity that I had seldom thought it possible for a non-plastic substance to obtain. It slowed. It stopped. At times, it even seemed to go backwards. It seemed caught between exhale and drawing in of breath.

But she finally opened her eyes.

She's been awake for a little over a day now. It has been exactly 26 hours and 19 minutes since she woke up and spoke a coherent sentence. Her first lucid communication was to ask for a bowl of Cocoa Puffs.

She spent the next hours adjusting the bed, rearranging the multiple tubes and leads, taking inventory of the room, flipping through channels and falling asleep. The doctor was in several times to check up on her but every time, it seemed, she was asleep.

When her old supervisor came by for a visit and she greeted him by name, I let out a breath I did not realize I'd been holding since the moment she hit the floor in the Merlette's lab.

She was back.

Rachel was back.

I closed my eyes for the first time in relief.

* * *

><p>I woke up when her visitor nudged me. He waved me out into the hallway. A nurse was tending to Rachel and she was occupied answering questions. I found her visitor about 20 feet down the hallway.<p>

"You must be Dr. Hood." He held out a tanned hand and I shook it.

"Yes, I am. And you are?"

"Michael Arthur Gavrillis – Mack for short. I used to be Rachel's supervisor a couple years ago. She's one of the best." He hesitated for a moment. "Dr. Hood, let me cut to the chase here. Did she get her brains scrambled in whatever accident put her in here?"

"She might have hit her head the floor when she passed out but there is no evidence of a concussion. Why do you ask?"

"Well, she asked me about Agent Baldwin. She wanted to know if he was okay."

He looked at me expectantly for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry, I don't know Agent Baldwin. Is he someone that she works with?"

"He was her partner for an assignment my team worked in Kabul."

"Task Force Eagle?"

"She told you about it?"

I nodded. "I'm sorry, is it strange that she'd ask about a fellow agent?"

"It's strange because she was concerned that Agent Baldwin was wounded in the action in which she was injured."

"There was definitely no Agent Baldwin there. It was just Rachel and Felix – Agent Lee – and me. We were searching a laboratory facility when Rachel was exposed to a chemical that made her lose consciousness. I am not sure even an agent of the bureau would call that 'action'."

"No matter what the tactical description, Dr. Hood, Agent Baldwin couldn't have been there. Agent Calvin Baldwin was killed in the line of duty in September 2007. Rachel attended his funeral."

I could feel my focus narrowing down to a single point. Concentrate, Jacob, work the problem. The data began to assemble itself in my mind. Orientation is times three – person, place and time.

"She thinks he's still alive?"

"She asked if he was hurt and if that was why she hadn't had a visit from him yet."

"What did you tell her?"

"I changed the subject, told her I had to go."

"Did she say anything else that seemed strange or out of place to you?"

"She asked about news on her application to the Terrorism Task Force. And she told me that she would be back to work in no time, that I shouldn't give away her spot on the team."

"When did she leave your team?"

"July 2007."

"And when did she have an application to the Terrorism Task Force?"

"She submitted the application in November 2006. It was still in the queue when she left my team."

"She still thinks she's on your team." I wasn't speaking to him but he seemed to take this as a prompt.

"So it would seem. I know you're not a medical doctor but I assume you'd agree something isn't right with her."

"Thank you, Agent Gavrillis. I will let her doctors know right away."

We shook hands again and he walked away. I turned to the nurse's station and asked the nurse to call the doctor. She looked a bit dubious until I explained Rachel's orientation problem. She picked up the phone and dialed.

* * *

><p>I am no good at waiting.<p>

I hovered just outside Rachel's door, trying hard to hear Dr. Bellmer as she ran through the mental orientation status checklist with Rachel. I kept one ear to the conversation she was having with Rachel at the same time I texted Felix to run a search on Dr. Bellmer's credentials. Within 3 minutes, Felix rounded the corner and came towards me with his usual enthusiastic pace.

"Remind me if I ever get my brain messed up to have this lady on my team. Dr. Emilynn Bellmer is double board certified in neuro-psychology and neurology. She is considered one of the top 3 specialists on memory loss in the country. She's got over 150 articles published and is author of the textbook they use to train doctors. She's got the same status with the FBI as you do, Dr. Hood, but a higher security clearance level."

"Let's hope she can tell us what is going on."

Felix looked around for somewhere to sit. There was nowhere so he hovered alongside me outside Rachel's room for a few minutes to wait for Dr. Bellmer.

I tried not to pounce on the doctor as she left Rachel's room after a very long 46 minutes. She seemed unsurprised by my hovering.

"I'm Dr. Bellmer. Special Agent Young is on your team?"

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Bellmer. This is Agent Felix Lee. I am not an agent with the bureau. I am a science advisor. Dr. Jacob Hood. Special Agent Young is my handler. What did you find out?"

"I've heard of you, Dr. Hood. You've been on some very interesting cases. Please come with me while I look at some test results." She rifled through a series of films at the desk and then headed into a room with a lighted table for viewing films. She put down a series of x-rays and stared at them for a few minutes before she pulled up a series of images on the computer whose screen was the desktop. Felix's eyes lit up.

"Is that one of those surface interfaces?"

Dr. Bellmer regarded Felix with a warm smile and went right back to sorting through images of Rachel's head and neck.

"The good news is that Special Agent Young has absolutely no evidence of trauma to the head or neck. You can see here," she gestured over the collection of scans and images, "there are no shadows, no lesions, no swelling, nothing. The bad news is that despite all the good news, Agent Young is temporally disoriented."

I translated for Felix without thinking about it. "She's not oriented to time correctly."

"No, she is not. She believes it is April 2007 and she is assigned to a team lead by an agent named Gavrillis who is her supervisor. She does not remember anything after April 2007. She does not remember anything at all about the circumstances of her injury but thinks she was injured in Kabul and flown stateside for treatment. She does, however, have memory of events since she woke up yesterday and her ability to form new memories is completely intact. She can recall in detail incidents from before the blacked out time window. In short, her recall seems unimpaired except for the chunk of time that she cannot recall. She's lost memory of approximately 3 years and 7 months."

"Retrograde amnesia?"

"Almost classic retrograde declarative amnesia. The only thing not classic is the lack of an obvious cause. Dr. Hood, has the FBI done chemical analysis of the substance to which she was exposed?"

"The lab is still working on it. We should have results in about 12 hours."

"I will be very interested to see the results. In the meantime, I think it necessary to get her oriented to current time. It's going to be traumatic for her. Are you close?"

I looked at her and could not quite parse the question. Felix jumped right in.

"Heck yes, they're close. They've been working together for more than a year and saved each other's lives a bunch of times. They're buds, right Dr. Hood?"

"Buds. Exactly."

Dr. Bellmer smiled. "In my experience, it helps for the person with the affected memory to be reoriented to details of the missing time by someone they already have a reason to trust. Even if she doesn't remember you, she may have a sense that you are trustworthy and therefore telling her the truth."

"Of course. How exactly does one reorient an amnesia victim to time they've lost?"

"There is no standard method. If she's like every other FBI agent I've treated, she'll pull the information out of you. You'll be lucky to keep up."

Dr. Bellmer's pager sounded. She pulled it off her belt, scanned the small screen and looked back at me.

"Trust your instincts, Dr. Hood. She may not recognize you but she knows you. Call me as soon as the chemical analysis is complete. I am going to inform Special Agent Young right now. Give me about 15 minutes."

And with that, she was gone.

Felix dragged me to the cafeteria for a sandwich. He asked didn't poke and hover as usual and vaguely, I wondered why.

I made my way back to Rachel's room with a slideshow running through my head of events that might be memorable enough that she'd recall them – when she'd discovered me with shrapnel in my ass after my car was bombed, when she was shot with a crossbow, when she was quarantined for smallpox. She'd been through a lot since being assigned to me. And now this. She was missing a significant chunk of time.

I came through the door and found her regarding me with the same piercing gaze she turned on everyone new we encountered when she was protecting me. And my mind went blank.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rachel**

I didn't realize until after he left that Agent Gavrillis never did say what was going on with Cal. I should have known something was up. When Dr. Bellmer came back after being gone for only 20 minutes, I knew whatever was up, it wasn't good.

She pulled up a rolling stool and sat by my bedside. Was there some rule that doctors couldn't deliver a diagnosis if their butts weren't planted on one of those? She took off her glasses and regarded me directly.

"Rachel, you were asking before about a diagnosis. Well, I am here to tell you what it is and answer your questions. You are suffering from a moderate case of retrograde amnesia. Specifically, you are suffering from loss of what's called episodic memory. Episodic memory is the memory of events from your own life, things like the name of your 3rd grade teacher or the color of your first car or the name of the first boy you kissed."

"Mrs. Jesson at Pinewood Elementary, blue and James Halliwell."

She smiled, a wide, genuine smile. "Very good. I wish I could remember that easily." But then her smile faded and she looked at me with that straight-on, no BS look again. "Here's the thing, Rachel. In your case, you are missing memories from a specific period of time. You woke up believing it is April 2007. You told me that you weren't sure about the day." She looked down at her clipboard for a minute. "It is not April 2007. In fact, today is November 12, 2010. It's a Friday."

She paused, looking at me expectantly. I realized my mouth was hanging open just a little and I shut it. Surely, this is not real. Then again, it would explain why this does not look like Walter Reed Hospital where I would have ended up had I been shipped to stateside if I'd been wounded in Kabul. It would also solve the mystery about why I couldn't find any wounds on my body. My mind then took off racing even as Dr. Bellmer started talking again. Had I had a mental breakdown? Did Cal get killed in front of me in Kabul and I lost it? Please, please, anything but that. I realized I'd missed some of what Dr. Bellmer was telling me.

"…ability to remember. When I came in before, I asked you about events from your past and current events and about what the last thing was that you remember, right?"

I nodded.

"It seems your memory loss is limited to a specific period of time between April 2007 and now. You are able to remember things that have happened since you woke up. You're able to remember things that occurred before the time period in question. Your memory loss appears to be limited to only this specific time period."

She stopped again and I stared at her. All I could think was that I didn't lose my marbles but that it's not all good news. I've lost something else – time. It's not April 2007 or even May or June as I have been thinking since I woke up yesterday. It's November 2010. I have lost memory. I am missing 3 and half years. I didn't know what to say.

And then it hit me. Of course. Cal and Mike and Finn had convinced her to prank me.

"Right, doc. Amnesia. Of course." I smirked a little to let her know I'd figured out the joke. I raised my voice to reach them in the hallway "Good one, guys! Just remember, payback is a bitch."

Knowing those three, they'd be hovering right outside my door trying hard not to laugh as they listened to the doctor deliver the punch line.

She looked at me levelly and said, "I understand that you might doubt this news. You might even think this is a joke. But I assure you, it's no joke, Rachel. You have amnesia. It is November 2010."

I was about to sass her again when she turned on the TV, flipped over to CNN and showed me the date stamp on the screen. November 12, 2010. Wait a minute. This was CNN. Mike can hack into computers with the best of them but cable TV? I didn't think even he was capable of spoofing a cable TV news feed. Dr. Bellmer flipped over to another channel where the anchors were talking about the stock market. There was a graph showing of a particular stock's price over the last 2 years. The axis of the chart was labeled with quarters in 2009 and 2010. She flipped to a third channel. This was one of those local government access channels. The caption read "Budgetary Review of Fiscal Year 2010". She pulled out her Blackberry pager and showed me the calendar app on it. Sure enough, November 12, 2010.

She was still talking but I wasn't hearing whatever she was saying. All I could think was how did I miss that? I must have flipped by CNN a dozen times since I woke up. I must have been more out of it that I thought. I realized then that the doctor had stopped talking and was looking at me with that "do you have any questions" look that doctors get.

What do you say to someone who has no reason to lie when they tell you you're missing the memory of more than 10% of your life?

"What happened to me? How did I lose my memory?"

"We're running tests to determine what happened. As I said, the chemical compound that caused your unconsciousness may be responsible for your memory loss. I don't have any details on where or how you were exposed. All I have in the notes is that you were on a case with the FBI. And we're doing chemical analysis of the substance while we keep running tests on you to make sure you're really all right. "

They're "running tests". Great. That's doctor-speak for "_we don't have a clue so we're going to poke you until there's no blood left in your veins and take pictures of your insides until you glow_".

"How long will the tests take?"

"About 36 hours."

"Okay." What else could I say? 'Go faster'?

"I understand that you're disoriented by this. For the moment, we're going to keep you here to monitor you and make sure you're not suffering any other effects. But you can get up, walk around, and most importantly, have visitors."

"I've already had visitors." But by the way she looked at me, I knew she meant someone else.

"I want you to spend some time with the people who were with you when you lost your memory. Being around them may help you recall the lost time."

"Oh-kay, doc." I was dubious. "Who are you talking about?"

"Dr. Hood and Agent Lee. You may remember Dr. Hood from after you woke up here. He slept on your couch for a couple of days. I don't know if you've seen Agent Lee since you woke. You couldn't miss him though. He's about 6 and a half feet tall and he never stops moving. I understand from them that they were with you when you lost your memory. They should be able to fill in some of the details about how everything happened. I believe Dr. Hood will be back soon."

"Sure." Sure, why not? Spend time with people who knew me. How could that be a bad thing, right? At least someone would be able to tell me what the hell had happened.

"I will be back to check on you tomorrow morning, Rachel. If you have any questions, have Dr. Hood give me a call. He's got my number."

And with that, she put her hand on my shoulder, smiled at me and was out the door.

* * *

><p>Dr. Hood.<p>

The name did not sound familiar.

Agent Lee.

Nope, not familiar. This could be awkward. But then again, they probably already knew that I didn't remember them. No need to dance about the facts.

I tried for a good ten minutes to remember something, anything about being on assignment with these people. How long had I been working with them? Were they on my team? Was this a onetime thing? Dr. Bellmer did say that Dr. Hood had slept on my couch for several days. Didn't seem like something you'd do for a person if you didn't know them well.

Damn. They knew me and I didn't remember them. I closed my eyes. And heard the sound of footfalls approaching my door. I opened my eyes and saw the man from my couch – must be Dr. Hood – come in.

Time to find out what the hell had happened. I snapped into agent mode – betray nothing, eyes flat, shoulders dropped, hands ready to draw a weapon.

He looked at me, this Dr. Hood, opened his mouth to speak and froze.

So here we are, staring at each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Jacob**

She sat on the bed and stared at me.

I stood in the door and stared at her.

I realized after a few seconds that my mouth was open and I hadn't said a word. I suddenly felt like I was 15 again and asking Sara Calvert to the prom. It took all I had to remind myself that Sara had said yes.

Focus, Jacob.

"Hello, Rachel. I am Jacob. We work together. Dr. Bellmer told me about your memory loss and I expect you have questions."

I could almost hear the quick, ruthless threat assessment logic surging in her mind, evaluating all possible outcomes. She evaluated only a moment before she came to some decision.

"Are we partners?"

"Not quite. You are the agent assigned to my protection detail. You are my FBI liaison. "

Her eyes widened a little and then narrowed again quickly as she swept her gaze quickly down my body and back up again.

"How long have I been assigned to you?"

"Two years, two months, four days."

She'd dropped her chin and was simply staring at me. Hard. I remember this from when she was first assigned to protect me. Silence is a weapon, she'd once told me.

"My title is Special Science Advisor to the FBI. I am a biophysicist. The Director asked me to consult for the Bureau on cases that need scientific investigation outside the forensic domain."

Whatever she thought, nothing showed on her face.

"What was I exposed to and how?"

"The chemical analysis is not complete. It is due back in a few…"

"What do you think it is?"

I recognize this tactic. This was one of the bulldog tactics I'd seen her use to great effect on suspects. Push them. Don't let them answer at their own pace. Make them rush to answer the question so they have less time to think up a lie. It was a power play. And last time we'd done this, it took weeks before she was willing to give even a fraction of an inch. I knew she was disoriented and off balance but this behavior managed somehow to poke me in a way that I didn't like. I decided to take my time and took a seat on the couch where I'd spent much of the last few days sleeping. After I'd sat down, I looked at her straight on before I spoke.

"We raided a drug lab. We believed it was the source of street drugs that had shown up at a local university. We thought the drug we were looking for might be a derivative of PCP or a second generation knockoff of X-tasy. But the substance you were exposed to was neither of those. So far, all we know is that it is chemically similar to Rohypnol. It's possible the chemical was engineered to produce memory loss. It figures into the case we're working on."

"Which is?"

"We're trying to find out what happened to a young man who attacked a U.S. senator. The young man is a college student named James Rye, aged 19. Mr. Rye claims not to remember anything after attending a party on campus at Rutgers University several nights ago. We had found that an unknown street drug was in use at the party. We'd traced the drug source to a lab. When we raided the lab, you were alone in a sealed room when you knocked a canister off a table. It broke and you were exposed the contents. You became unconscious immediately. We didn't know about the memory loss until you woke up. "

"How many days ago was that?"

"Four days."

For the first time since I'd entered the room, she looked away from me. She looked out the window for a moment. I could tell she was in a tenuous spot. To trust or not? I decided to press a little more, give her something else to consider.

"Felix will be here in a little while. I think he's back at the hotel taking a shower. He's doing a lot of work on the case online too. We're making some progress."

She raised her eyes to me again and the look this time was not steely, not hard. It was blank.

"Agent Felix Lee. He is an agent who often assists us with investigations. He is not permanently assigned to me as you are but he's proven to be very tenacious and resourceful. He'll be here in about 2 hours. He's running down some leads from the lab sweep."

She looked almost haunted for a moment. "How well do we know each other?"

"I believe you met Felix for the first time about 7 months ago on his first assignment with us."

"Not…Felix. How well do you and I know each other?"

"I'd have to say pretty well. We have spent 677 of the last 774 days in each other's company. You've saved my life several times. I know I have more faith in your ability to keep me safe than any other agent who's ever been assigned to me."

Her mouth twitched a little and she raised her eyebrows the smallest fraction.

"So we work …well together. And we spend a lot of time together."

It wasn't a question. She was being uncharacteristically obtuse. She looked at me as if her will alone could pull something from me that she could recognize. I decided that she might feel somewhat reassured if she could recognize herself through my eyes.

"We do. And I've come to know some things about you in that time, Rachel. You love fried eggs over medium and sausage for breakfast but you eat oatmeal most of the time because you know it's better for you. You wear your gun in a holster on your belt on your right side or when you're not wearing a belt, in the small of your back tucked into the waistband of your pants. I've never been able to figure out why the handle faces your left hand when you do that. You like licorice. You drink cheap Scotch and expensive Barolo. You have a scar on your right knee from a fight you had when you were seven. You're very proud of the fact that you pinned the neighbor boy using a move your dad taught you. You didn't go to your prom because Ken Moran asked Lisa Turner instead of you and it made you cry."

It was clear she was uncomfortable with me knowing about her but not knowing much of anything about me. But this had to be at her pace. So I stopped there and waited to see what she'd do with that much information.

"So I've shared all that with you. What about you? Biophysics?"

"Biophysics. I also did research in quantum mechanics. And the good news is that that is exactly the same look you had on your face the first time I told you that."

I smiled at her and she finally cracked the smallest of smiles.

"Did I ever understand what you're talking about when you talk science…stuff?"

"You told me once that beyond the chemistry of gunpowder, you'd leave the science stuff to me. But I never believed you when you said you didn't understand. I think you were just trying to make me feel better about not being able to shoot worth a damn."

She smiled again, that slight smile that I recognized as her trying to make up her mind.

"How bad?"

"I've managed to not shoot myself or anyone else. So far. You keep telling me that I need to use the weapon I carry with me all the time and leave the guns to you."

She raised her eyebrows and pulled a quizzical look.

I tapped my temple.

She smiled again. "Ah." Her smile dimmed a little. "So we've spent the last 2 years working together. And the doctor said it's 2010. And I am missing memory of 3 years and 7 months."

"Yes."

"Did I ever tell you about my tour in Kabul?"

"Not really. You mentioned it to potential witness once and it was the first I'd heard of it."

"So you can't fill me in on what happened during the time I can't remember."

"Sorry, no. But I bet Felix can find your service record. He can find water in the Sahara."

Felix's sense of impeccable timing struck at that moment as he came through the door like the Valkyries were on his tail. He started talking immediately as if nothing had changed at all.

"We have a lead on our chemist, Dr. Hood."

"You have a lead on his location?"

"Yes. Special Agent Munson is lead and he specifically wants you there as soon for the capture. He's concerned about a repeat of… He doesn't want anyone exposed again."

"I see." I looked at Rachel. She had a longing look on her face. Her longing to go after Pepper was palpable. Even with tubes strung in her arms and no idea what had happened to her memory, she was ready to go.

"Not we, Dr. Hood. Just you." Felix was being very deliberate. "Munson asked the Director specifically for you. And apparently the Director he said he'd make sure you have a temporary executive protection detail."

I turned back to Rachel and raised my eyebrows. "Felix can stay with you. You can ask him all about our time together and all the cases he's worked with us. That should be quite entertaining."

Felix flashed his excited grin, the one that made you realize he really was born to find the obscure and handle the mundane.

"Of course. I can tell you all about Dr. Hood getting covered in sheep love potion on our last case." His expression morphed into a fusion of enthusiasm and innocence.

I turned back to Rachel. I think she was not happy about my leaving but I wouldn't swear to it. It might have been just the idea that she wasn't going on the hunt. The look on her face was hungry. She wanted out.

"I will be back as soon as I can. Felix, just remember that you're not the only one with stories."

Felix gave me his usual departure send off. "Stay safe, doc."

Rachel replied with her usual rejoinder. "Listen to your liaison."

I stared at her for a moment in surprise. She almost always said those exact words to me when I was handed off to another liaison. It had only happened 4 times since she'd been assigned to me. But still. Maybe things were coming back to her.

"Like they knew the last digit of pi."

And with that, I left the room. As I rounded the corner by the nurses' station, I heard Felix's distinctive laugh.

I hoped she was coming back to us. Hell, never mind us. I hope she was coming back to herself because once she did, she'd come back to me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Rachel**

I have new respect for anyone innocent who's ever been interrogated.

Ever since I woke up, they've been asking me the same set of questions. I am fortunate that it's not because they think I'm guilty of something. But still, there comes a point when the same questions asked over and over again just get… annoying.

_What's the date today_?

_Who is your supervisor_?

_What was the last meal you ate_?

_What's your father's middle name_?

They are testing me, I get that. But I'm fine. Really, I am. Except for that hole in my memory, I am really fine. And so long as they agree, I get out of here tomorrow morning. Which means the next meal I eat will not consist of Salisbury "steak". And limp carrots. And I will not have to look at Jell-o again for a good long time.

I cannot wait to get some decent barbeque from Wally's. Or some green curry from Beau Thai. Or some Bukom Devil Wings. Anything, so long as it comes with _**flavor**_.

I never was any good at patience.

* * *

><p>Agent Lee appeared at my door promptly at 9:00 this morning. I heard him coming down the hall, moving as fast as he'd been moving the last few days. Did he never just walk?<p>

"Special Agent Young. I brought you some clothes from your apartment."

He held up a pile that appeared to contain jeans, my favorite blue sweater and a white turtleneck.

"That's great."

He smiled widely. I was coming to expect that kind of thing from Agent Lee. He smiled easily and broadly. But he was sharp and never missed a thing. He might be happy but he wasn't dim. I was counting on it. He was going to be my source for reorienting me to my work with Dr. Hood. I flipped through the pile and realized suddenly it contained underwear and socks in addition to the rest of the clothes. Felix had been in my apartment and in my underwear drawer. I raised my eyes to him.

"Yeah, I remembered that they everything you were wearing for analysis and I figured you'd need…"

I almost smiled watching this very big man blush.

"Good thinking, Agent Lee. I would hate to leave the hospital dressed in one of those unfortunately ventilated paper gowns. I just need a few minutes to change."

"Of course. I'll be out in the hallway nuking my latte and your mocha."

"You brought me a mocha?"

"From Starbucks around the corner. Tall skim hazelnut extra hot mocha with whip."

"Now I know you and I have worked together. Bless you, Felix."

He flashed that megawatt smile as he ducked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>It seemed to take forever to sign papers and get released from the hospital but at long last, we were in Agent Lee's car.<p>

As we left the hospital entrance, I wondered what my apartment would look like. I'd lived there for just over 2 years but I didn't remember the place. Apparently, I'd moved in right around the time I started working with Dr. Hood.

Dr. Hood.

I'd spent a lot of time with him. That much was clear from the way he'd rolled off all those details about me yesterday. It was bothering me more now that he knew me when I couldn't remember anything about him. I decided to quiz Agent Lee while he drove me towards Wally's. I was not going home without some real _**food**_.

"How're things with the lead on the chemist? Have you heard from Dr. Hood?"

"When I spoke to him this morning, he said they'd secured a lab that they think our phantom chemist used. There was a quantity of the substance that Dr. Hood thinks is a precursor to the one we found when you were dosed. He's put a rush on a chemical analysis of that substance. We expect it this afternoon. Once we have those results, we should be able to compare to the results that are now available from the substance you were exposed to."

"Dr. Hood seems to know how to pull the strings to get things done. "

I stayed quiet and Agent Lee glanced over at me for a brief moment.

"He was really upset when you passed out. I don't think I've ever seen him so upset."

"Dr. Hood. He seems like a smart man."

"Off the charts. When I started with you two, I'd have to write stuff down that he said and look it up later just to keep up. But then I realized he didn't do it to make anyone feel stupid. Not like the last MVP I was on protection detail with. That guy talked like a walking dictionary and made it seem like you were a knuckle dragger if you ever asked for a definition. He was definitely…."

He glanced back at me and I must have looked uninterested because he righted himself back to the topic I was interested in quickly.

"But Dr. Hood is not like that. He keeps giving me books to read and documentaries to watch and explaining the science behind the cases we're working. I've learned more in six months with him than I learned in 8 years of high school and college science."

"So he's decent to work alongside?"

"In a big way. I like the Doc a lot. And I think you do too. He annoys you sometimes. But I've seen you go to the mat for him. I think you like him too."

He pulled the car into Wally's parking lot and we got out of the car. If it's true what they say about smell holding the key to memory, the smell of this place ought to wake up something. There is no smell I've encountered yet that matches Wally's baby back ribs in the sauce that made this place famous. I looked across the roof and saw Agent Lee's eye closed in what can only be described as bliss. Clearly, he was no stranger to Wally's particular charms.

"Oh, Dr. Hood is going to be sorry he missed this."

"Really? Have we been here, the three of us?"

"Several times. Last time we were here, Dr. Hood got into a discussion with Wally about the ingredients in the special sauce. Dr. Hood was about to spill the secret when Wally made a deal with him. Dr. Hood gets a table on demand as long as he never spills the secret."

We entered the building and sure enough, Wally greeted Agent Lee and I like we were kin back from the war. He showed us to a table, waved over a waitress and patted Agent Lee on the shoulder and called him "son" before he left us to contemplate the brief and utterly carnivorous menu. We ordered.

"So you were saying, Agent Lee, that…"

"Felix. Please. Call me Felix. Every time you call me Agent Lee, I feel like I'm on an audition."

I smiled.

"It's a little strange for me, Agent Lee. You and Dr. Hood both seem to know me reasonably well. And I can't remember the first thing about either of you. It's enough to make me a little… edgy."

"Fair enough. I can't imagine what this is like for you. I mean, waking up with no physical injury and finding out that 3 years is just missing. That's gotta be…"

"Freaky."

Our platters arrived and we dug in. Around a mouthful of rib meat, Felix managed to say, "The first time I saw you eat, I was convinced you must run 15 miles a day. I had never seen a woman eat so much and keep trim like you do."

"Well, thank you, Felix. I think that was a compliment buried under there somewhere. You appear to enjoy your food as well."

Another megawatt smile. "Yes, m'am. Dr. Hood makes jokes about not reaching between us at breakfast for fear of losing an arm."

We laughed together.

"The doc is a bit of a gourmand. He likes to eat slowly and taste what he's chewing on. I think you and I have spent too many meals in chow halls. We know that taste is not guaranteed to be friendly."

"Amen to that."

"And some of the places we've eaten on cases have been legendarily bad. I've seen Dr. Hood come back from a week long case 5 pounds lighter because he actually asked what he was eating in the only restaurant in town. Major mistake."

"He seems like a decent guy."

Felix paused and looked at me.

"Yes, he is a good and decent man. And he cares. A lot."

With that, we finished our meal, paid up and left.

* * *

><p>Felix drove me to my apartment. Apparently, I'd moved up the pay scale. This place was far nicer than the place I remembered living in before I went to Kabul.<p>

As I moved about, looking things over, Felix's cell phone rang. He answered and began writing things down on his notepad. He hung up and turned to me.

"Special Agent Munson is asking me to run down a series of names. They may be aliases for our chemist. I need to head in and get on the network. You're okay here?"

"I'm good."

His cell phone beeped again and he fished it out once more.

"Dr. Hood just landed at Reagan. He's headed home to change and then he'll be over to catch you up on the case. He says it'll be about 3 hours before he's here."

"Good. Should give me plenty of time to find everything."

"Ok. Give me a call if you need anything."

"You got it. Thanks for the ride home and the run to Wally's. I owe you."

And with that, Felix was gone. And I was left in my gorgeous, obviously not cheap apartment. I wondered what my pay grade was now and how much of it I spent every month on this place. I shucked the clothes Felix had brought me and took a long, hot shower. Hospital showers are not real showers. I put on the terrycloth robe hanging next to the shower stall and tucked my hair into a towel.

I poked about for a solid hour - opening drawers and closets, opening the pile of mail that had collected, examining the contents of the fridge. There were no surprises, just a series of encounters with familiar mementos and new clothes. It was clear I was dressing more expensively than I remembered. The suits were better quality. The shoes were definitely more expensive.

After I changed into sweat pants and my FBI sweatshirt, I realized I'd not looked at my computer. My email probably was close to overflowing. I made myself some tea and sat down at my desk.

I checked my work email account and sorted out mail that needed action from that which could be filed. I had a notice that I had to requalify for active duty, starting with an appointment the following day with the department headshrinker. Fun. Next was my personal email account. I threw out lots of Viagra and porn ads and saved a few emails I didn't recognize. I'd figure out later who those were from.

I was dealing with a seriously out of whack balance on my cable bill and was on hold with customer service when my laptop's screen saver kicked in. I watched the pictures flash by as the hold music droned on. Picture of me with my niece as a baby. Picture of me aged 10, holding up a fish. Picture of me in desert warfare training out in Nevada with my squad. Picture of me in a low cut dress, being dipped by Dr. Jacob Hood.

Wait a minute.

Naturally, this was the moment the cable service person came on the phone. I excused myself and hung up.

I did a search on my computer and found the library with pictures.

There were a dozen or so from the same event where I was wearing a dress that made me look like a hooker. Dr. Hood was wearing a tux and in every picture, his arm was around me. I scrolled through the pictures one by one. It was the second to last one that made me stop. I had no idea who'd taken the picture but it was most definitely well timed. Dr. Jacob Hood was kissing me. And not politely kissing me like a coworker kisses a coworker at a holiday party. No. This was full on, go-for-the-gusto kissing.

And I was definitely participating. From the look on my face, enthusiastically.

Oh crap.


End file.
